This Time, Goodbye
by EpsilonPax
Summary: Our transition from Dark of the Moon to the upcoming film, Age of Extinction. Since Bay is setting out with an entirely new cast of characters, we wanted to give the ones so near and dear to our hearts a chance to say their farewell's to the Autobots. This is also our humble attempt to fill in the gaps between DOtM and AoE, to address what happened to NEST and the 'bots.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is our transition from Dark of the Moon to the upcoming film, Age of Extinction. Since Bay is setting out with an entirely new cast of characters, we wanted to give the ones so near and dear to our hearts a chance to say their farewell's to the Autobots. This is also our humble attempt to fill in the gaps between DOtM and AoE, namely to address what happened to NEST, all of its personnel, and, of course, our 'bots. **

**A fair warning there is a few references to other stories we have written, namely, "Aftermath", and "Who Drives You," as well as the inclusion of our OC, Elena ( please see our profile for Elena's background). As always, we tend to ignore what Annabelle's age should be and have made her a touch older than she probably would be; we hope you can forgive us for the change, dear reader. ****  
**

**Now, enough chatter and on with the plot!**

**All our Autobot Love, Epsilon & BumBee. **

**Disclaimer: We own and have the rights to nothing *sigh*, all rights to Transformers belongs to Hasbro. **

THE CLOCK

Impassive god! Whose minatory hands

Repeat their sinister and single charge:

_Remember!_ Pain is the unfailing bow,

as arrow after arrow finds your heart.

…each instant snatches from you what you had,

the crumb of happiness within your grasp.

Thirty-six hundred times in every hour

The Second whispers: _Remember!_ And Now replies

In its maddening mosquito hum: I am Past,

Who passing lit and sucked your life and left!

_Remember! Souviens-toi! Esto memor!_

(My metal throat is polyglot.) The ore

of mortal minutes crumbles, unrefined…

_Remember!_ Time, that Tireless gambler, wins

On every turn of the wheel: that is the law.

The daylight fades…_Remember!_ Night comes on:

The pit is thirsty and the sands run out…

Soon it will sound, the tocsin of your Fate—

From noble Virtue…

Or from Repentance, last resort…from all

The message comes: "Too late, old coward!..."

(Baudelaire)

Annabelle climbed into the cab of her pick-up truck, enjoying the searing kiss of the sun baked, black interior. The flash of burning heat against her skin, soaking into her palms as she shut the door and then gripped the wheel gave her focus, helped her push her thoughts away long enough to listen to the thick growl of the engine before she turned onto the road. Pulling away from her high school, she turned the old Topkick toward home. She savored the rumble of the engine, despite the heat she firmly gripped the steering wheel to drink in its soothing vibrations. No, the navy blue Topkick was no living leviathan, no Uncle 'Hide to save her, but it was a comforting and familiar silhouette.

At first her father, to say nothing of her mother, was more than a little resistant to her choice of vehicles, but she had saved and saved, had considered so many makes and models for months. "I'm not trying to replace him, Dad." She had told him after the sales rep had given her the keys, "No one and nothing can bring him…or any of them back…but this, this helps me to remember him…and them…in a good way."

At the time, sitting beside her in the cab, Lennox had admired her resolve, but couldn't entirely dismiss his trepidations, "Remembering is one matter. And I could never ask you to forget them, I wouldn't ever want you to. But I don't want your memories of them to haunt you."

"It won't. I'll take care of this the way they took care of me."

And she had.

Each and every time she washed and diligently waxed her truck she remembered Bee's cheerful chirps and whistles. Whenever she tinkered with the engine, steadfastly maintaining it, Ratchet's grumbles echoed in her ears. Even when she parked it, so careful and cautiously, she knew Sideswipe would have been proud of how tediously she minded the paint. If she closed her eyes and stood in its shadow, she could pretend, if just a little, that it was Papa Bot looming behind her, protective and defensive. And every time she let the engine rattle and roar to life, letting it bellow and snarl, Ironhide was with her. The Topkick was her memorial to those she could never openly honor or reminisce about.

Now, just as always, with the road crunching beneath her Topkick's tires, Annabelle took no small comfort in the memories the vehicle evoked within her.

"Oh I miss you, Uncle 'Hide." She mused aloud to the lifeless dash, not for the first or last time, "I wish you could be here for this weekend." Annabelle smirked for no one, "You'd be grumpy, but you'd be proud. And I know you would have wanted to be the one to drive me to my graduation tomorrow…well you or Bee…but I don't think you would have let him."

Annabelle tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "Yes, Ratch I _did_ check my mirrors before I changed lanes." She leaned back into the seat, settling in for the twenty-minute drive along the nearly empty stretch of highway. She had stayed late today, later than she realized, busy cleaning out her locker and signing yearbooks with her friends. Now, the sun was setting, turning the road that stretched before her into liquid gold and streaks of dusty orange. The rumble of a larger vehicle passing drew her out of her self-induced reverie and Annabelle flicked a casual gaze to the lane beside her, just in time to watch as a semi-truck passed her. Impossible to tell what color it really was in the descending dusk, but in the last rays of light, the semi's fenders winked at her in faded orange. Almost like flames…

Annabelle smiled, "Yes, Papa Bot…I know you wouldn't have wanted to miss my graduation either. Of course you would have been more subtle about it…you probably would have used your hologram to come and watch…" Annabelle's voice hitched, tripped over a sudden surge of sorrow, "…would have been nice to hear your voice…to hear your say 'congratulations, little one'…"

Annabelle took a deep breath to steady herself. "What the hell am I doing this for…they'd want me to be happy…to be excited…not to get all weepy."

Checking her mirrors again, Annabelle sighed, "Though it's kinda hard to know what they'd want when they're not here…when they didn't even stick around long enough to say goodbye…" Briefly her eyes flicked back to the semi-truck; dusty, dirt-sore, it looked tired to her. No longer passing her, it had reduced its speed, content now to rattle a comfortable pace behind her Topkick. It was only by squinting could she discern the faintest silhouette of a driver behind the dull windshield. Annabelle absentmindedly began to chew her lip even as her thoughts began to likewise chew at her. With no one else to see or to hear her, Annabelle spoke aloud again, this time sending her words not to the dash in front of her, but rather directed them at the lifeless semi-truck trailing her.

"My Dad always told me that you were one of the fiercest of fighters he had ever seen. He said that so long as you stood beside them, no one was ever afraid, not even in Chicago." With the silence of the rode stretching before her, Annabelle lost her inhibitions, letting her thoughts tumble from her tongue as swiftly as the Topkick's tires consumed the miles.

"I never saw you…or any of the other Autobots in battle, but from what Uncle Epps and Uncle Sam, even Auntie Elena told me…I believed them. I believed you and the Autobots weren't afraid of anything." Of course it wasn't the leader of the Autobots driving so meekly behind her, it couldn't and wouldn't ever be. But for now, suspended in the possibilities of the fading light, it was enough for Annabelle to pretend. It was enough to wish it really was him, following her, checking up on her, always ready to defend, to protect…to listen.

Betraying her emotions, her lip trembled, her voice wavered with her ache for her wish to come true, but Annabelle merely tightened her grip on the steering wheel, allowing the engine's vibrations to center her, to steady her. Perhaps it was graduation looming before her, mere hours away, perhaps it was knowing that soon she would have to say goodbye to all of her friends, or perhaps it was understanding that she was about to leave the life she knew behind so that she could start a new journey and begin college. Whatever it was, whatever pushed at her now to purge her pent up feelings, Annabelle let it take the reigns, she gave in and let her words flow unrestricted.

"I believed in you…so did my Dad…and Uncle Epps…and Uncle Sam…we all believed in you…so w-why did you leave us, Papa Bot? Why did you take the Autobots and disappear without saying goodbye? You didn't have to see the hurt in my Dad's eyes when he had to tell us about the transfer orders…about NEST disbanding…you didn't stay to explain anything…you ran away, you ran away from us Papa Bot…and here I believed that you would always be the unstoppable force, the immovable object, the one being who would never run away…especially not from us…but you did…"

Annabelle forced herself to stop looking back at the semi, forced herself to stop looking for what wouldn't be there…for who wouldn't be there. Instead, she squinted ahead to the road before her. Allowing herself one last rambling weakness, she spoke again to the quiet expanse of freeway before her: " Uncle Epps was so mad, Papa Bot…it took him so long to speak to you again after Chicago…and when you left…"Annabelle blew out a breath of air, "I didn't think he'd ever forgive you…I'm not sure even now he has…I know…"Annabelle's voice faded to a whisper-hush, "…I know my Dad hasn't…I know he's still angry, still hurt…and I…I…" She caved in, yielding to the impulse to glance back to the mute semi truck in her rear-view mirror, her pretend-Papa Bot, "…I just wish you could have told us why…that's all, Papa Bot. Why did you run from us?"

The only reply she received was the sound of the wind, buffeting against her windows, a curtain of hollow noise bereft of answers. For many long minutes, she listened to its empty strains, content with the numbness of the wind. She let it soothe her, scoop away her messy emotions, let the vacuum of sound purge away the last of her sorrows of unanswered questions. But it did not last, and sooner rather than later she began to find the rasp of wind against the cab deafening as it was defeating. Just when she considered turning on the radio to defend herself against the silence, she saw it: the over sized billboard beside the road. Sure, the billboard had always been there, displaying one advertisement or another. But today, today it was different. Today it had been changed.

It only took her moments, long screeching, agonizing moments for Annabelle to see the billboard, absorb what it said and then drive past it. But even when it was miles behind her, its words—so blatant and blaring—were seared into her memory forever, inexorable.

"_Remember"_, it challenged in big, bold letters impossible to ignore or deny, "_Remember Chicago. Report Alien Activity." _

The sign knocked the breath from her lungs, made her hands tremble on the wheel. But to her credit, Annabelle kept some semblance of composure, kept it that is, until she passed another billboard. This one splayed with the message: "_Only you can prevent another attack. If you see something, say something. Keep Earth human."_ Worst of all, were the silhouettes emblazoned beneath the hateful message. No mistaking those outlines of angles and edges, a painful kind of familiar: Bumblebee and Optimus.

Annabelle chewed her lip, tried to blink back the tears that suddenly sprang to life and bit at the backs of her eyes. All of her frustrations and disappointments that had malingered in her musings before now vanished, evaporating instantaneously at the signs accosting her. Because even if the Autobots had truly run away from them, even without the blessing of a farewell, Annabelle would never, indeed could never, see the 'bots as anything less than family. And to see their images used in such a hateful way was more than she could stand. Bumblebee. Optimus. _Her Bee…Her Papa Bot…_

It was then that Annabelle lost to her tempest of emotions; her foot trembled on the petal, slipped and faltered. The Topkick, slowed then wobbled on its course, edging toward the shoulder of the road, the tires beginning to slide from the carefully paved edge. However her lapse of focus didn't last long. The sudden blare of a deep throated horn accosted Annabelle, setting her tumbling back into the moment, yanking her from the precipice of memory and an entrenching bog of feelings. Immediately, Annabelle corrected and set her Topkick once more safely within the lanes. Knuckles white against the wheel, Annabelle let her nerves settle, took deep, calming breaths.

She lifted her gaze, freed it from the dead, straight-ahead stare it had been locked in. Now, she glanced around purposefully, looking for the driver who had clearly prevented her from making what could have been a costly mistake. Hopeful, she was quick to look in her rear-view mirror, but was surprised to find it empty, devoid of any view of the big rig. That was when she felt it, a rumble of a louder, deeper engine close beside her. Annabelle again felt her gaze pulled to the lane beside her, finding once more the semi-truck emerging from her blind spot. Another quick glance at her other mirrors confirmed her suspicion that aside from herself, the big rig was indeed the only other vehicle on the road. The truck driver was clearly the only one who could had been thoughtful enough to intervene with a well timed horn blast when it had become apparent her attention had wandered too far from the road ahead.

Perhaps it was the manners her parents had drummed into her, perhaps it was mere impulse, or the sudden surge of gratitude that she hadn't driven her precious Topkick off of the road; whatever it was, Annabelle followed the feeling and rolled down her window, intending to wave to the truck driver an embarrassed—and apologetic—thank you. Even as she lifted her hand, Annabelle half expected the other driver to return the gesture with an annoyed or even angry look, a part of her even expected the truck driver to merely ignore her. But what she didn't expect was the countenance that surged into view as the semi pulled up beside her. As the larger big rig's shadow fell over her, time seemed to slow down; impossibly sluggish it suddenly allowed her to see everything in painful clarity within the span of a few heartbeats.

The driver was older, more so than her father, yet somehow his weathered expression was kind, gentle in a sagacious manner. It was a face that belonged to a man who had endured too much throughout his life. Dressed in a faded red shirt, jeans and with a tan Stetson hat perched atop his head, he met her gaze boldly. He didn't return Annabelle's wave, but instead a small smile turned up the corners of his lips and he lifted one hand to tip the brim of his hat down in a salute of sorts to her. And his eyes, an unearthly blue, they sparkled when they met her gaze. It was his eyes and the unfathomable expression within them that knocked the air from her lungs in a wheeze; she knew that gaze, could never and would never, never forget it, because she knew that gaze even when it was diminished in his hologram. Sure, it looked different without its usual guise of a military dress uniform, but civilian garb or not, there was no way she could ever mistake that gaze, such an ethereal, almost electronic blue.

"Papa Bot!" She gasped, the wind whipping through the open window sucked away her words, her air, "Optimus!" Even as the syllables of his name slipped away, something sad veiled the man's gaze, dimmed his smile. And just like that, the moment was gone, shattered as time resumed its normal pace. Before Annabelle could react, the semi sped up, changing lanes and widening the distance between them. Numb with shock, all she could do was watch as he drove away, turning onto an off ramp that carried him out of sight.

She didn't for a moment doubt herself, didn't doubt what she had seen. She knew it was him, knew that she had indeed seen her Papa Bot once more. Her certainty shed clarity onto what she had briefly beheld. Now, returning to the recent memory, she was sure the semi's paint had been blue, brutally faded, but still blue. Just as she was sure the fenders had boasted of those familiar flame decals, not longer as brilliant, but certainly still enduring. Yet her surge of joy and relief at knowing he was alive was trampled under the equal certainty that he did not want to be followed, and had not intend to stop for her.

Her Papa Bot had run from them…again.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! More chapters to follow, Please R&R!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A brief warning, there is the use of one curse word in this chapter. Nothing too terrible I think, but just wanted to give you fair warning, dear reader. **

**-Epsilon & Bumbee**

Wherever he goes—on land or out to sea,

Under a flaming sun or a frozen sky—

…man lives in terror of the Mystery

and casts a trembling glance above his head

to heaven—Heavens! The vault that walls him in,

illuminated ceiling of a music-hall…

(Baudelaire)

For the past week, Annabelle's home had been infested with balloons, streamers, and confetti as well as heaping amounts of food to feed the heaping amounts of family that had descended upon them for the past week. Specifically, the Lennox home had been invaded by her gaggle of honorary aunts and uncles, each and every one of them having worked or served with her father, the Autobots and NEST for years. So when she pulled up before her house—no longer able to park in the driveway packed with cars—her heart began to pound against her ribs. What should she say? What should she do? What _could _she do? Could she really just walk inside and announce to everyone that she had just seen Optimus? _And those billboards…_her memory whispered to her in mocking tones, setting her stomach twisting into uncomfortable and ugly knots.

Hands trembling with nerves, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and locked her car, imagining such a horrible conversation. _"Hey Dad, last day of school was cool…oh by the way I saw Optimus today, but he didn't stop to chat." _Yeah, because her Dad—to say nothing of Epps, Sam, Carly and Auntie Elena—wouldn't explode six times over after hearing _that_.

The steps up to the front door evaporated as her feet mechanically carried her there far swifter than she ever remembered them capable. The smooth wood materialized before her, left her fumbling for her keys, and it was their deceptive jingle, as she struggled to find the one to open the lock, that gave her away. Before she could fit her key into the door, her Auntie Carly suddenly yanked it open.

Warm light pooled out into the porch, as the smell of something warm and tasty cooking in her Mom's oven washed over her, mixing with the scent of Aunt Carly's favorite floral perfume. As graceful as she still was beautiful, her blonde hair flowing in loose curls, Carly's smile was genuine and beaming when she realized it was Annabelle.

"I thought it was you, Belle!"

Annabelle managed a numb smile as Carly slipped her into a quick, though tight, one-armed hug, which also served to scoop Annabelle out of the evening air and push her inside.

"Annabelle is home!" Carly called out, her voice echoing first into the living room and then into the kitchen beyond. Perched on the couch together, her uncles Robert Epps and Sam Witwicky chatted while working their way through what Annabelle could only assume was not their first beer of the evening. Carly retreated back to the kitchen and presumably, back to Sarah Lennox's company.

"Our soon-to-be-graduate is home late tonight," her Uncle Sam's smile was no less loving than Carly's, though he squinted a bit more from behind a pair of glasses.

"Wow, Uncle four-eyes, you're actually wearing your glasses. What did Aunt Carly have to bribe you with?" The sass and sarcasm came to Annabelle reflexively, as she teased him good-naturedly. She latched onto the familiar routine, needing the time to coax her heartbeat back into a slower rhythm. Stalling she dumped her backpack beside the door, not quite hearing whatever equally sarcastic comment Sam threw back at her. As Annabelle turned back toward the living room, she wiped her sweating palms against her jeans, her hands still trembled in nervous fidgets, unable to keep them still, she tried to tuck them into her pockets as she moved to slouch against the couch.

She was so focused on not looking like she was focusing on anything that Annabelle nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a firm, but gentle hand grip her shoulder.

"You okay, Belle?" Lennox's voice sounded just above her head as he tucked her into a hug.

Annabelle took a moment to return his welcoming embrace, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of her Dad. Sadness once again nipped at her heart as she recalled that he no longer smelled faintly of metal and diesel like he used to, when the Autobots were around. Such a small nuance, but she missed it, had always associated that metallic tinge with him. When he loosened his grip on her shoulders, stepping back so he could look straight at his daughter, Annabelle knew in the instant she looked into her Dad's eyes that she couldn't tell him about Optimus. Upset as she was, she couldn't imagine what such news would do to him. Now, on the eve of her graduation, surrounded by the family they had found along the way, she realized this week had been the happiest she had seen her Dad in a long, long time. To spoil it now…no, she couldn't do that to him.

"Annabelle…?"

She conjured up a smile for him, concealing its artificiality with an equally artificial yawn, "Yup, I'm just a little tired, it's been a busy week."

The flicker of concern that had begun to shadow his expression lifted at her words, and he leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on the top of her head, "Mmmk, Jelly Belle. Dinner is almost ready—" ever observant, the veteran soldier didn't miss his daughter's haphazard disposal of her backpack, "—come into the kitchen for a bite _after _you put your stuff away! March, miss! I don't wanna trip over your mess!"

Annabelle rolled her eyes but moved to comply, "Or what? You gonna give me KP duty?"

Epps' voice drifted casually over to them, "Don't worry, Belle your Pop can't stick you with KP duty, not when he already gave it to Sam tonight."

Neither Lennox nor his daughter stuck around to listen to Sam's litany of protests, all of which were silenced by Sarah Lennox's reprimand from the kitchen, "You ran over my hibiscus plant, Samuel! You can do the dishes until they grow back!"

"How is that fair!" Sam continued to whine as Lennox made for the kitchen while Annabelle scooped up her backpack to stash it in her room as ordered, "C'mon," Sam pleaded to all within earshot, "who honestly plants flowers that close to the driveway?"

Epps gave into a low chuckle, "Dude…give up. Just buy her a new flower bush and wash the dishes for the next few days."

The playful banter and snickering began to lighten the heaviness of her heart, but as Annabelle turned to ascend the stairs to gain the sanctuary of her room, she found her path blocked by Epp's wife, Elena. She loved her Aunt just like she loved all of her extended family, but having narrowly avoided spilling the beans to her Dad just minutes before, she wasn't quite prepared for the sight of NEST's former Director of Communications.

Sure, her Auntie Elena visited often enough, and tonight certainly wasn't the first time she'd seen the once-Director clad in comfy jeans and a plain, red cotton shirt—_red_, her mind whisper-taunted her again, _red like Optimus' hologram_—but it was the knowledge that once, not so long ago, such casual outfits were rare occurrences for her Aunt's impeccable wardrobe. It used to be, like so many things, that Annabelle only saw Elena when she was at NEST's base and up until then, her Aunt had almost always sported crisp business jackets and chic skirts. Just as the sound of heavy footsteps always gave away the approach of an Autobot, the snap and click of Elena's impossibly high heels against concrete used to constantly announce her arrival. Armed with her infamous clipboard, Elena had once radiated power, confidence and command. Not even Director Mearing had the brass to challenge her.

Now, with her white, meek sneakers and her red hair tamed into a loose ponytail, it felt like her Aunt had been diminished somehow. Elena, the one and only individual who Director Mearing had ever feared, now looked…harmless.

The image of the dusty Big rig, bleached of so much of what used to be brilliant and challenging colors, popped into Annabelle's head before she could stop it.

The sadness that always lurked behind Lennox's smile…

The glimpse of Optimus, looking so defeated and tired on the road…

Auntie Elena without her clipboard to swat playfully at the Autobots…

Annabelle was rendered powerless against the swelling riptide of emotions. Her bottom lip waivered, trembled and Elena's welcoming smile vanished as she recognized the precursor to a torrent of tears.

Her gray eyes flashing, Elena reacted without thinking and before Annabelle—or Epps and Sam—realized what had happened, she found her backpack once again dumped unceremoniously on the floor, forgotten, as Elena latched onto her hand, push-pulling her through the living room; the quickest short cut to the sliding glass door that let them escape to the solitude of the backyard.

Somewhere, in the mist of her tears and the deafening veil of sadness that kept pulling Annabelle down, down, down, the young woman heard Epps and Sam voice concerns, questions; the whipcrack of Elena's voice, as steely as her gaze, silenced both of them with ease. Seconds latter, Annabelle registered the sound of the glass door sliding shut behind her and being pushed into a patio chair.

Annabelle would have expected any of her other relatives to bombard her with questions, but not Elena. No, Elena was like Optimus, she knew when to push and pry, and when to choose silence; so, instead of asking who or what or why, Elena merely reached out to hold Annabelle's hand—and waited. She waited until Annabelle had taken enough deep, almost gasping breaths of the cool night air into her lungs, waited for the chill of the evening to bring Annabelle's sorrow induced flush down, waited for the stillness of the backyard to settle her heartbeat. Elena waited. Waited until Annabelle broke the quite first.

It was in the precision of her Aunt's absence of questions that Annabelle knew there was no fooling Elena. Sure she might be able to slip her emotional storm past her Dad, but any stalling ploy—even if she could think of any—wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of working on her Aunt.

"Today…driving home…" Annabelle fervently studied the cracked pavement of the patio, refusing to meet Elena's gaze, unable to even look in her Aunt's direction as she struggled to piece her confession together, "…I saw…" Her breath caught in her throat, it tripped up her tongue, smothering any attempt at forming coherent words. Why couldn't she just say it? Her brain practiced over and over what her mouth couldn't seem to work out: _I saw Optimus_. Why couldn't she say three, simple little words?

"Ah…" Elena sighed with a knowing look, leaning back into the chair she had pulled up beside Annabelle. Letting Annabelle's hand fall from hers, Elena draped her arms over the armrests of the chair, her brow wrinkling in thought, "The billboards." She stated at last, "You saw the billboards."

Annabelle blinked in confusion, trapped between two colliding thoughts, "What? I mean yes, but…yes…the billboards."

Elena's ghostly gray tinted gaze narrowed, flashing dangerously, and under her searching look Annabelle squirmed, all tears rapidly drying on her cheeks, now like misplaced raindrops on a cloudless day.

"Um…the billboards…" Annabelle sputtered helplessly as a sinking weight filled her stomach again. An overwhelming urgency to not tell her Aunt suddenly filled Annabelle, "Yes…I-I saw the billboards a-and—"

"Bullshit." The curse popped from Elena easily.

"No, no I s-saw them a-and—"

"Forget the billboards for a moment, Annabelle." Elena leaned forward, her focus, unwavering, upon Annabelle. Back and forth her eyes darted, studying the teen's expression, until…

"Who, Annabelle?"

Annabelle's jaw dropped—which confirmed Elena's suspicion—and her niece muttered a wordless squawk of protest.

"Who, Annabelle?" Her voice was even, calm, patient but firm and unyielding, "Who did you see on the road today?"

"I…I…"

Elena waited.

"I…um…"

And waited.

"Well, you don't understand…it…it all happened so fast."

…And waited.

Growing irritated now, Annabelle gave into her ire if only to deflect the piercing look her Aunt had her so deftly pinned under. Crossing her arms against her chest, Annabelle huffed, and defensively flung his name at NEST's former Director of Communications.

"_Optimus." _

Seeing instantly every muscle within Elena tense, Annabelle regretted every syllable. Now it was her turn to wait, wait for her Aunt to process the heavy-handed blow she had just been dealt.

"You…"Elena annunciated very carefully, "You…saw…Optimus…Prime…today…"

Meek now, Annabelle bobbed her head.

The small smile that suddenly haunted the corner of Elena's lips stung with a potent sorrow. The older woman, sighed, passing a hand over her brow and closing her eyes for a long moment. When she spoke again, it was with world-weariness. "Belle…I'm not going to ask you if you're sure, I'm not going to ask you what happened…or even how…or why…I…" Now it was Elena who struggled to compose herself, "I'm only going to ask you…what did he say?"

Knowing how much pain she could potentially cause her, Annabelle's reply was soft, "…nothing. He…didn't say…anything."

Annabelle told Elena then, told her Aunt everything that had happened on the way home, told her about nearly drifting off the road, the billboards, the horn, the semi…and the hologram. Through all of it, Elena didn't move, didn't utter a single word or sound. When Annabelle was done, and when her niece moved to take her Auntie's hand, it didn't escape her notice how much of an effort it seemed to cost Elena to even intertwine her fingers with Annabelle's.

Another small, sad smile bloomed on Elena's face, "A Stetson?" She at last whisper-chuckled, speaking to no one in particular, "Really, Optimus?" Looking back at her niece, Elena blinked back the sheen of tears that glossed her eyes but would not fall, "Well…at least he's being subtle and ditched that ridiculously overly formal military dress uniform."

Annabelle was stunned and couldn't believe how well Elena seemed to be taking it, "But...now what?"

Elena tilted her head to one side, listening to the evening air as much as to Annabelle, "What do you mean?"

"Well, what do we do now?"

"Now?" Elena echoed, shrugging her slight shoulders, "Nothing."

Annabelle sat bolt upright, letting go of Elena's hand, "What do you mean nothing?" she snapped, "We…we can't just do nothing! Don't we help…or do…_something_?"

"Annabelle…whomever else, if anyone, you choose to tell about this is up to you. But there is nothing we can do…and I don't think Optimus meant you, or any of us, to do anything…"

"Do you think he even meant for me to see him…to recognize him?" She voiced the quiet and creeping dread within her before she consciously decided to.

Elena gathered herself as if to speak and to offer Annabelle her best guess, but at the last moment decided against it. Swallowing her words, instead Elena gestured for Annabelle to stay put, "I'll be right back…" and before she could stop her, Elena had gone, ducking back into the house. Briefly, Annabelle heard the blare of the TV, a chorus of laughter from the kitchen, before there was the rasp of the glass door being opened and then shut again. Bewildered, Annabelle could only watch as Elena sat back down, balancing a slim, square package in her hands.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow to give this to you…but, I think it's more appropriate now." Gingerly, Elena passed the brightly wrapped present over to Annabelle, though before she completely relinquished her hold upon it, Elena laid one palm atop the cheerful graduation wrapping paper.

"Annabelle…you must understand and come to accept something." Commanding again, Elena looked anything but meek sitting across from her now, "You may never know what Optimus did or did not intend today. Just like we may never know why the Autobots left without even a backward glance at us." Regret tinged her Aunt's voice, but she didn't falter or hesitate, " Annabelle, I'm glad you saw those billboards today. We all saw them…and I want you to do exactly as they say."

Annabelle looked at her Aunt the way a deer looks at a car when it's caught in its headlights. "What?"

"Do exactly what the billboards say. _Remember._ Not just Chicago, _remember everything and every moment_." At last Elena released her hold on the gift, nodding at Annabelle in an indication to unwrap it.

Feeling detached, Annabelle watched her fingers peel back the tape, watched her hands tear the cheerful wrapping paper away. Crumpling it into a tidy ball, she worked to focus on what now lay in her lap: two pictures, framed in beautiful dark cherry wood. Annabelle worked to keep the pressure of tears at bay as she studied the first photo. It was of her—she couldn't have been more than nine years old in the picture—wearing a bright pink sundress, she was standing barefoot, balanced on a crate of some kind, her arms outstretched for balance like a tightrope walker. And behind her…behind her mimicking the same pose, was Bumblebee. Oblivious to the Autobot behind her, her nine-year-old self smiled unknowing at the camera. Bumblebee's blue optics, however, were focused not on the photographer, but rather on the child in front of him.

Struck speechless, it was a long time before Annabelle could tear her gaze away from the rare photo to study the other frame in her lap. In this one she appeared to be even younger, maybe six or seven. Barefoot again, this time dressed in shorts and a frilly yellow blouse, Annabelle's younger self didn't look at the camera, instead she seemed to be in the act of climbing, a look of complete and devastating concentration scrunched up her little features comically. "What…?" Confused, Annabelle lifted the frame closer to her face, trying to make sense of the tangle of blue shades that filled the picture.

Gentle and guiding, Elena reached over to her niece, pulling the frame back, "No… don't look at the small details…look at the picture as a whole." It took her another minute, but when she did, the photo snapped into perfect clarity. She was indeed climbing in the picture, but not a '_what'_, rather a '_who'_. Optimus. Her younger self balanced on his fender, while she reached for a higher handhold with tiny fists. Looking at the image from a distance, she realized that Optimus was in the act of kneeling, his great hands hovering around the little girl climbing him, ready to catch her in the event she should slip and fall. Like Bumblebee in the first photo, every iota of his focus was upon her.

Annabelle didn't know for how long she sat there in the growing darkness, drinking in the two memories captured in the pictures. But when she finally looked up at her Aunt, Elena waved away any thanks Annabelle tried to stammer. Instead, Elena merely told her, "Do what those billboards said, Belle. _Remember_…and I think you'll find all the answers you'll ever need. I think that's what the Autobots would have wanted."

**A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Look for another chapter in the next day or so! We promise the bots will actually be appearing sooner rather than later!**

**Please R&R!**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Promise to keep this note short! Again, a brief warning, there is a touch of cursing in this chapter. There is also brief references made to a previous story we wrote called "Director vs Director." The long and short of it being that Director Mearing and our OC Director Elena do not get along. If you, like us, are always up for some Director Mearing bashing, please check out that story!_**

**_No more chatter, on with the plot!_**

**_~~~Epsilon & Bumbee_**

**_###################################################################_**

_It is within the quiet of the night that answers may be found._

_Of course, not always, but at least within those hours heavy with sleep it seems as though the potential, the possibilities multiply, stretch and glitter like so many stars. Listen to them, watch as they shine, if one asks it, opens the heart, lays the self bare, tender and exposed, they will sing._

_Can you hear it?_

_Do they sing?_

_Do they sing for you?_

The vault of the night sky yawned above the road, gravel crunched beneath the tires of a solitary semi-truck. Oranges and reds nearly indistinguishable from rust patches, faded blues and once fluid flames were all reduced to insignificant grays in the cobalt night. Faster and faster, determined, intent the wheels spun; this night too many memories nipped at the Peterbilt's tires, urging him on and on and on...on to emptiness.

But this is what he wanted, what he himself had set into motion. His memory processor rebelled with nagging insistence, asserting itself with the stored memory of his last conversation with Director Mearing…

###

The majority of the various staff and personnel had long departed for home, night had fallen and spread for hours before Director Mearing at last decided it was time the she too, depart the classified federal building for her apartment. Heels snapping against the concrete, she shouldered her own bag, having sent her assistant home hours ago. Mearing's shoulders ached from hours of examining files, filling out various stacks of paperwork, and being hunched over the keyboard. Scanning the deserted parking lot for her car, she squinted with eyes exhausted from staring at her computer screen all day.

She hated to admit it, but she was so tired it took her wandering through two floors of the parking structure before she remembered what level she had left her car on. Taking the elevator to the top floor, she took a handful of steps out onto the darkened lot and then froze. The sight of a blue Peterbilt semi-truck with orange and red flame decals, parked beside her black SUV stopped her cold.

Caught off guard, but otherwise unconcerned, Mearing rolled her eyes and huffed out an impatient sigh. Resuming her brisk pace and crossing the lot, she snapped, "What now? I've had a long day, Prime. I'm too tired to deal with whatever it is you want. You need something, go ask Lennox."

Roughly dropping her bag beside her car's front tire, she deliberately turned her back to the Autobot Leader as she fumbled with her car keys. It was only after she heard the familiar rasp and rumble, the clatter and cadence of his transformation that Mearing bothered to turn around and face him.

Impassively he looked down at her with those otherworldly optics. "Director Mearing, I did not make this journey to see you lightly."

"Spare me, Prime. You need something done, go ask your favorite pet Director, Elena."

"Director, only you have the clearance to do what needs to be done."

That got Mearing's attention. Cautiously, more interested now, she asked in a decidedly less hostel tone, "Why are you here, Prime?"

"I come to you with a matter of upmost urgency…and discretion."

"Oh I got that already, Prime. You knew that I was going to be on base later this week. Whatever it is that you want to talk about must be important because you couldn't wait until then." She sighed roughly, "Well, I haven't heard anything unusual on the news or through my typical lines of communication, so I know you haven't been out pancaking another freeway and probably aren't here to ask me to send out cleanup crews. Unless, that is, you're planning on destroying something in the near future."

Intended as nothing more than scathing sarcasm, Mearing's jaw dropped open when he flicked his optical lenses in a Cybertronian blink and replied calmly, "I am."

Mearing just stared, "What?"

"I am planning on destroying something in the near future." Her surprise could not be any more complete when he added, "And you are going to help me."

"Oh I am, am I? You planning a rebellion?"

Slowly he knelt down before her, "No, Director. But I am trying to prevent one."

Mearing narrowed her eyes, "Having trouble keeping your Autobots on a leash?"

When it took Optimus a long moment to speak again, Mearing knew she had got to him. "Director, I am here because you are the only one who can help me achieve my intended objective."

Still bitter, Mearing leaned against her car, crossing her arms, "That's not what you said a few months ago when you let your little miss Director Elena all but shove me out of NEST's chain of command."

"You are efficient, precise and able to follow protocol impartially, something that Elena, in this situation, would not be capable of."

"If you're trying to flatter me, Optimus you're going to have to do better than that."

"I need to utilize your…ruthless efficiency."

"What is it that you're planning on doing? You want me to help you take out the White House or something?"

"No, not the White House…I need you to help me disband NEST."

"That's not funny."

"I am not amused, or pleased to be asking you to do this."

When he returned her glare, unflinching, shock filled Mearing and pushed aside all vestiges of any other emotions, "Oh shit. You're serious." Head reeling, Mearing pressed her palm against her forehead, staggered at the prospect. "Its not that simple, Prime…NEST has huge financial backers, mobs of political supporters—"

"—and dissenters." He rumbled, "Director, how long would it take you to process transfer orders for each and every member of NEST, including all staff and personnel?"

A headache began to build in her right temple, with a sigh Mearing began to massage it as she mentally calculated the reams of paperwork it would take. "Um…it depends, if all members of NEST—obviously not including the Autobots—submitted a request, command would first have to—"

"No one will be submitting such requests. You are to do this without their prior consent or knowledge."

Mearing froze, "What the hell are you up to, Prime? Planning on going back to Cybertron? You too much of a coward to say goodbye to all of the humans who stuck by you and helped you fight your war?"

"I am trying to protect them, to keep them from becoming collateral damage."

"Protect them? Protect them from what?"

"When you permitted your government to exile the Autobots before, you allowed me to realize not only what humanity was capable of, but how the majority will generally react when faced with a foe they do not and cannot understand. Director, when Sentinel Prime and Megatron threatened to enslave humanity it was easier for the population to accept the Autobots as enemies, rather than as the means to a solution. Now, with the Decepticons gone, their leaders slain, it will not take long for the tide to turn against the Autobots. I am afraid that one day, and one day soon, they will begin to label us as the enemy once more. Your government will need to hold someone accountable for all of the destruction and damage that the Decepticons inflicted upon your people and your planet. We will be the obvious choice."

All bitterness and sass aside now, Mearing stepped toward Prime, "So this is your solution? To run away and hide?"

"When the tide turns against the Autobots, I would contentedly remain behind so that I, and I alone, could shoulder all of the responsibility and blame. And if I, for a moment, believed it possible that by doing so, it would mean that no actions would ever be taken against NEST or any other Autobots, I would not be here asking for your assistance. Director, I would allow your government to extinguish my very spark if it meant that no further harm would come to any more of your people and if it would prevent any harm from befalling any of my Autobots. But I fear, that will not be the case. And when the population and government call for our destruction, I do not wish for NEST or any of its personal to become collateral damage."

"You really think that's what will happen? That it'll get that bad?"

"Before, the Autobots were fortunate to only be exiled. Next time…I know in my spark, we will not be so lucky. So yes, Director, I do believe the situation will become so dire."

Mearing scrubbed her face with her hands, "I…I don't know what to say, Prime…"

"Tell me…how long would it take to finalize all of the transfer orders at one time?"

Blowing out a breath, Mearing paused to consider, "Um…possibly a month? I mean I could get it done faster if I didn't have to do it without NEST's knowledge."

Slowly, weighed down with the finality of his actions, Optimus stood. "No, Director, you must keep this from them. I believe it will be less painful that way. Take your month and inform NEST only after it has been done."

"And what about the Autobots?"

"We will already be gone by the time you arrive to deliver the transfer orders."

Mearing was about to ask where the Autobots could possibly intend to go, but stopped herself. It was better that she didn't know, because if things turned out the way he predicted, she would only be a liability to the Autobots; she would be one of the first people the hunting parties would go after in any effort to find the Cybertronians. A small, sad smile formed, "Prime…you realize that Lennox…Elena…all of NEST will hate me for this, right?"

Solemnly he nodded, "That is why, when they ask, you must tell them the truth. Tell them that NEST is being disbanded at my command. There is no reason for you to become collateral damage as well, Director."

Optimus took a step back to allow himself room to transform, but Mearing lifted a hand to capture his attention, stopping him. "I suppose this is it then, Prime? This is the last time I'll ever see you isn't it?"

"It is."

Mearing was surprised by the nip of sadness that tugged at her, "Well…for what it's worth then…I just want you to know…I've never doubted which side of the line you or any of the Autobots stood on. We've never got along the way you do with Lennox, Epps and Director Elena…I've never been thrilled about that…but I know that you've always tried to do what was best for Earth and its people. Look, Optimus…since I'm doing you this last favor, can you do one for me?"

"What would you ask of me, Director?"

"Don't leave Earth. Stick around. Humanity still needs you and the Autobots. They may forget it, but…but I'll be here to help them remember it before the end."

Wordlessly he tipped his helm toward her in a nod; Mearing wasn't fool enough to believe that he would actually tell her if the Autobots were or were not planning to stay on Earth. Again, it was better if she couldn't confirm or deny anything if they were going to go into hiding, "Goodbye, Director Mearing. Thank you for your dedication and service to the Autobots and NEST."

Mearing smirked, "Hey, Prime? What is it that you always tell your Autobots before leaving?"

In a tone that Mearing would remember for the rest of her days, she listened to his rich and velvety timber as he spoke his last words to her, "Transform…and roll out."

###

The day—the last day—Mearing arrived on NEST's base of operations to deliver the fatal blow, was as bad as she could have expected. Scathing looks from staff and all ranks of soldiers, demands for answers and for reasons why bombarded her from all sides. But even when Director Elena, Lennox, Epps, and NEST's core unit of soldiers, who had served with the Autobots since Mission City, had cornered her, Mearing didn't flinch. Instead, remembering the sound of Optimus' voice and his final wish, she chose instead to remain cold and callous.

"Budget cuts," Was the only thing she offered to them in the way of an explanation.

She knew one of the many nicknames NEST had for Optimus was 'Papa Bot.' He was their uncompromising hero. She, however, was an outsider, never really welcomed or even considered a part of NEST. So it was she kept her silence, kept the real reason for NEST's disbanding from them.

She wasn't about to take their Papa Bot from them.

###

Alone now, the quiet of the evening pressing in around him, the hum of the road as it passed beneath his tires the only prevalent sound, left Optimus vulnerable to memory, bitter and unkind. The weight of his final decision, of his last conversation with Mearing almost three years ago now, haunted him tonight. Just as he had countless times before, he again fought against himself, struggling against his logic processors in yet another attempt to rationalize and justify that fateful choice. It had been a necessary destruction, one he intended to forestall the impending violence, to spare the humans he and the Autobots had come to care for with a frightening intensity. At least, that's what he had told himself…what he had told the Autobots. Gathering them close, in what would be NEST's final days, he had spoken to them in the deepest hour of night. He had laid his spark bare, offering them the dark fears that had haunted him ever since the last shot had been fired in Chicago.

"_I fear that all too soon, the people of Earth will withdraw their welcome. While we have done all within our power to protect and to defend them…we cannot ignore the vast destruction and desolation that has been left in our wake. Though we never intended any harm…countless human lives have been lost…because of us…because of my leadership. Now is the time for our last gift to humanity…we must protect them from ourselves."_

Never had he intended to incite such pain, but rather he had only ever yearned to set them free, to spare them, Autobots and humans alike. He was their Prime, he could feel their pain, their suffering in the mute silence of the aftermath left by his words. This withdrawal from humanity was an acceptance of a self-induced isolation that would cleave them from all ties and connections they had formed with their human counterparts; it would incite an unslakable sorrow to blossom between the two races.

Such was a day he had known, with ill-fated certainty, to be an eventually unable to be avoided. He had expected it since NEST had at long last retreated from Chicago; no longer smoking ruins but now tender and growing anew, revived and at long last healing. Yet, there was no such healing for him. Of course Ratchet could make him whole again physically, but the Doc Bot could do nothing for those internal damages done to the spark.

Tonight, he welcomed the night that blossomed before him, an inky wound of blackness that he wanted to absorb, to be absorbed into. One by one he took the turns of the road swifter than what any typical earth-made vehicle could have managed safely. Such speed drained him, tested and tried aching injuries. That the humans had revoked their welcome and acceptance of the Autobots had not surprised him—he was only too glad he had already sent his Autobots into hiding when the blow did at last fall—but the ferocity and unrivaled ruthlessness of the hunt for them had caught him unawares. Never could he have foreseen such savagery. Steadily, the ache from fresh injuries became an insistent pain, pain clean and clear. It was a pain that pushed him around each turn that flew by…

One…

_Wheeljack…_

Two…

_The Twins, Skids and Mudflap…_

Three…

_Ironhide…_

Four…

_Sentinel Prime…_

Five…

_Megatron…_

Six…

_NEST…_

Seven…

_Lennox and Epps…_

Eight…

_Elena…_

Nine…

_Sam…_

Ten…

_Annabelle…_

So many, too many ghosts pulled at him, tearing, scraping, scaring leaving him no respite, only pain. Reaching a quiet and unpopulated expanse of highway far beyond the limits of the city, the Peterbilt turned off the road, pulling into the rolling hills well sheltered by the thick tree line, he exploded into motion, forcing the transformation, wanting it to strain, to hurt his overtaxed systems. Complete, once again in his bipedal form, he immediately sank to the ground, wearily resting suffering forearms atop a knee as he knelt in affliction and in homage. No longer a Prime here in this moment, in the quiet of the evening, but rather just a humble servant of Primus pleading to his forger, his designer for…for what?

For release?

For healing?

For peace?

To know peace he would have to drown out the voices of not just the dead and damned, but those he had left behind, those whom he had abandoned. That he could not, would not do. Within, the Matrix of Leadership burned above his spark; despite all that had transpired, he was still a Prime, and it was his mantle to always hear the straining songs of the dead, to pay tribute to their voices.

To know healing he would have to accept all that had befallen, all of the destruction and desolation. Yet, how could he do so knowing that he was beyond a whisper of a doubt responsible for so much of it? _If only he had taken more care, more caution of Sentinel…would not then Ironhide still be here? Would Wheeljack? Would the twins?...and Megatron_ whispered his guilt, bitter and powerful.

To know release…

He hung his head, the whisper as his battle mask sliding into place, an instinctive reflex to his discomfort, the sound almost lost beneath the breeze that rattled the branches of the trees.

But he_ had_ known release…the quiet, deep and abiding stillness. Is that what he longed for now? That release and ease that only death could bring? That was what was so maddening, to have tasted so much once and then in one fell swoop have it stolen away, replaced instead with what…this? Responsibilities, grief and guilt, pain and despair…the circles of that which was called life, the turns of the galaxies, workings of the universe, it was all so much to bear.

"_So you isolate yourself, to selfishly sulk like a sparkling?"_

A rough voice, gravel rattling within a deep, booming basso.

Optimus kept his optics shuttered, unwilling to open them, he did not want to shatter the illusion, to see that his oldest friend was not actually there but instead only a lonely echo of a voice, of wishful thinking.

"_Come now, Prime, pull yourself together. You cannot honestly wish to be offlined. It was tough enough bringing you back in Egypt—"_

"But, I did not ask for so much, old friend. Never did I demand that I be held to the living at all costs."

"_You speak to me of costs? Think of what cost it would be to the Autobots, to humanity if we had let you remain in the Well of Allsparks."_

"Yes, the cost would have been steep, but you could have paid it, you would have risen as Prime and led."

The rough bark of laughter, _"Do not fool yourself, Prime. I was never meant to take your place."_

"Ah, but Ironhide you could have, you would have."

"_Enough. You are not being reasonable. We needed you, Optimus."_

Silence descended, but not for long, never for long.

"_Ah, I see now, I understand. You miss it; you wanted to remain within the Well of Allsparks. Why? Because of the comfort—"_

"Because of her, because of Elita." Even knowing his isolation was complete, that the nearest living, sentient being was miles from him, Optimus still hesitated to speak her name. It had been eons since he had last done so aloud.

"_And…?"_

"Because I was beyond the circles of suffering, I was beyond the expectation to give, to sacrifice all…"

"_You knew what was required, what the council was really asking of you when they offered you the title. You knew what it meant to be a Prime."_

"To be alone, to suffer, to give, to defend, to protect…"

"_And with all that you have seen on Cybertron… on Earth, was there nothing worth suffering for, sacrificing for, defending, protecting?"_

"Cease, Ironhide, you know the answer to that as well as I."

"_Enough with your self pity then. You've never led us astray, and now the war is over, you at long last led us to an end of all of the violence—"_

"—By slaughtering those whom I held the most dear. Sentinel made me who I am, Megatron stood by my side for so long, my brother, my old friend…and I tore them apart." Optimus' strong shoulders sagged, beaten and weary, "So much destroyed and lost…because of my failings. And so little has been gained because of our sacrifices! The humans hunt us, their hatred blinds them…and the few of us who remain cannot contact each other…this is not living, it is survival, brutal and hollow."

"_Is that how you really see it?"_

"How would you?"

"_For Sentinel and Megatron…it was their crimes that condemned them, good sparks turned foul and tainted…with their deaths you righted all of the wrongs they committed, restored the balance—" _

"Is that how _you_ truly see it?"

"_Optimus, this guilt, if you continue to carry it in this way, will destroy you." _

"The pain of responsibility is what has always defined me."

"_Foolish, stubborn slaggard! Is this what you truly want? To drive yourself into ruins from the guilt-"_

"This pain is my penance, I must feel it, endure it as retribution for all of the needless deaths I have caused…for all those whom I have harmed…we are now a broken race because of what I allowed to transpire, of what I—"

"—_If you finish that statement I'll dent your helm in! You will destroy yourself if you continue this way. You must trust me, now is not your time, you cannot be offlined now. So many still need you, just as you need them."_

"You speak as though there remains hope of our connection to the humans being restored. My friend…old friend…I am glad you did not survive to see these days…this was supposed to be our new home, where we could have endured as guardians and guides to such a young and inexperienced race…instead, I have allowed hatred and mistrust to grow, I let the humans turn against us; with my failings I have cultivated it…I failed the humans and my Autobots alike."

"_You and the Autobots have endured through darker days."_

"Because of what I have done and what I have failed to do…I am useless to protect those whom I promise to." Optimus' mighty frame shuddered under the weight of the memory of Annabelle driving a Topkick. He could only guess at her intentions for selecting such a vehicle, but he did not have to struggle to understand the hurt in her gaze, the longing in her expression.

"Little one…I brought you so much sorrow…I have created a divide I cannot breech…"

"_You protected her today."_

A silence once more rose, but this time it was not a reluctant quiet, but rather an interested one.

"…_I have your attention at last, good. Maybe now you will listen to me." _

"Old friend, I have lived much too long, my spark extended into years that I was never meant to see…"

"_There is peace for you Prime, and not just the peace of the Well of Allsparks. Open your optics, let yourself rest and heal, and you will see the peace that already surrounds you."_

"There is no peace within exile."

"_There is if you have hope. And you know better than most mechs that nothing lasts forever."_

A rough growl of frustration and pain tore from his vocal processor, "Yes, Ironhide, I know of what you speak, I do not deny you that. Yet that is not the kind of rest I long for now…not the rest I need…" His words trailed away into the evening air, unanswered. Wearily Optimus onlined his optics with great reluctance to the empty night before him, all comfort from Ironhide's imagined presence gone, fading with the stars into the pre-morning air. When he spoke next, he knew it was to no one, "I have never asked anything but this…to know rest and quiet… to be with her again, that is all…I have given all of my existence to defend and protect that which I know to be just and good, and now…now, after it all, I am denied the only thing I have ever asked…"

Not too easily did he shift the panels protecting his spark open, exposed to the lingering night air, to the inky blackness, to the stars, pinpricks of light, as he called out to Primus…

Silence reigned anew, the stars listened, but as his physical pain at last overcame the tempest within his spark, he could not hear their song.

**#######################################################################**

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Remember to share the Autobot love, please R & R!**


	4. Chapter 4

While the dying world redefines  
The reasons we strive to exist  
We feign control, though we're bound to learn  
The meaning of moments like this

'Cause in the peaceful hour, the quiet spell  
Seduced by the promise of bliss  
We soon forget that nothing's happened yet  
We're living for moments like this

This is what we live for, how we learn who we are  
It defines us, ever reminding us  
That life never is more precious than this

From the dim light in the greyness  
The aim of the soul tends to miss  
When the clouds catch fire and the ocean's pitch  
We're made for the moments like this

That there's nothing to fear  
You'll always be near, to remind me, stand behind me  
Although life can be rough we can never give up

It's in our power to face the storm with all its fury and madness  
The flash of thunder roll behind us with a longing and sadness  
The clouds will break

This is what we live for, how we learn who we are  
It defines us, ever reminding us  
That life never is more precious than this

That there's nothing to fear  
You'll always be near, to remind me, stand behind me  
Although life can be rough we can never give up

('Moments Like This' by Alison Krauss)

**###**

Phantoms of doubts, whispers of guilt and gnawing damnations plagued Optimus' processor well throughout the night. He was still locked within their throes when the night began to yield the sky up to the dawn. Dew collected upon his unmoving frame, the damp slipped into joints and seams between his armor, but Optimus did not give his discomfort any attention. He had been kneeling for hours now, his shoulders bowed and hunched forward, helm tipped toward the Earth and gaze unseeing as he rested his forearms upon one knee. It had been months since he had lingered this long in his bipedal form, and despite his fresh injuries, it felt good to elucidate limbs.

Slowly, the air began to lighten, no longer the weighted blanket of night, as the sun awakened the sky. But Optimus was not interested in the sunrise. Rather his audio finials picked up a sound his spark both ached for and dreaded.

Hushed with the effort of a careful cadence, was the rattle and sigh of another Cybertronain's frame. At first he believed it to be another glitch within his processor, nothing more than the product of another wishful manifestation. But from where he knelt, Optimus could feel the vibrations on the ground, the tangible telltale warning of another's approaching footfalls. Though he did not move outwardly, instinctively he reached for his defensive programming. He could not allow himself the luxury of hoping the approaching Cybertronain would be one of his Autobots, and dread filled him at the prospect that it was a malingering Decepticon. As long moments marched past, bringing with them only silence, doubt began to rise within him. Perhaps it all really was just the product of errant—

A strong hand reached out, gripping Optimus' shoulder, digits clenched and pinched panels already injured. At the pain inducing touch, Optimus reacted unthinking. With a battle cry, he exploded into motion; his battle mask clicking into place as his own arms came surging upward to lock onto the stranger's wrist and elbow joint. Using it as a pivot, Optimus none too gently threw the other Cybertronain over his shoulder. There was an electronic wail, the shriek of panels as the other tumbled forward, hitting the ground hard enough to send showers of dirt ghosting into the air. The force of Optimus' throw sent the other tumbling even after the Prime had released his hold upon his opponent.

Certainty settled within his spark when Optimus discerned the frame drenched in blacks, devoid of identifying colors. This was no Autobot of his. Before the other could properly put his peds beneath him, Optimus was there, one hand locking onto the other's shoulder, shoving him back down against the earth, pinning him with his hand and knee. With a metallic ring, Optimus unsheathed a blade from his free hand, bringing the tip to bear against the stranger's chassis, ready to plunge it into the other's spark in a nano-click.

In that moment, when he held the other completely in his mercy, the stranger looked up at him with wide and frightened optics. With wide and frightened _blue _optics.

_Click click churripp click click whirrrrr…._

Optimus didn't move, didn't dare to twitch so much as a single servo.

_Click click click! Whistle chirp churrrip whirr!_

The plea finally reached Optimus. Immediately he threw himself backward, off of his perceived foe, sheathing his weapon, he leaned forward gripping the other Cybertronian by the forearms, pulling him up off the ground, helping him to rise, to stand.

"_Bumblebee…"_ Optimus' optics searched the young scout's countenance, horrified at how close he had come to extinguishing the other's spark, "What are you doing here? And why did you not announce yourself?" It was no small effort for Optimus to keep his tone steady and calm.

Still bereft of the use of his vocal processor, Bumblebee replied through a private comm. channel. _"I thought I had detected your signal…I couldn't stay away…Optimus, I'm sorry I startled you…I saw you kneeling there…I thought…I thought the worst, I thought you had been injured…"_

"Old friend, please forgive me…I did not realize it was you. If I had known, never would I have attacked you."

Bumblebee's answering clicks and chirps were soothing and forgiving_, "I would have done the same." _

Still unable to believe that it was indeed Bumblebee who stood before him, Optimus had not released his grip upon the younger bot's forearms, reassuring himself that it truly was no illusion, no phantom summoned to damn him or haunt him. The Prime would have felt foolish for maintaining the insistent contact, but he banished the sentiment when Bumblebee shifted his wrists to in turn clutch the Prime's forearms.

"_Optimus…"_ Bumblebee flicked his optics over the Prime's faded and rusting exterior, noting with no little concern the droplets of fresh energon glistening from a still leaking vein atop the other mech's shoulder, _"You have not been taking care of yourself…did the humans…?"_

Regaining composure, Optimus drew himself up and released his hold on the young scout, however Bumblebee had other ideas and let his grip remain firm, ensuring he kept Optimus' attention. _"Did the humans do this to you?"_

"Peace, Bumblebee. It was a close, and thankfully brief, encounter, but nothing more."

There was still doubt and concern glimmering in Bumblebee's optics, yet before his loyal scout could continue to press the matter, Optimus spoke, "And yourself, old friend? How have you been fairing against…?"

How well Bumblebee understood his leader's inability to outright state the humans were now their opponents; granted none of them would ever willingly fight back. It was why he, like all of the other bots, was content to run, to hide rather than to openly take a stand against the humans. Bumblebee shifted away, habitually scanning their surroundings, confirming that they were in complete isolation, "_New paint helps, as does the new alt mode…I keep to less populated areas…Optimus, any contact or news from the others?"_

Optimus bowed his head, "I am sorry Bumblebee, but you are the first Autobot I've had contact with for over three years."

Bumblebee emitted a low and mournful whistle, conveying his luck hadn't been any better, _"Optimus?"_ Bee's tone was timid, wary and hesitant.

The Prime narrowed his optics in concern; the occasions he had heard so much uncertainty in Bee's voice were far and few between, "Something the matter?"

"_It…It was not chance that has allowed me to find you…You meant to be here just as much as I did…so close to them now, after all this time…"_

Optimus tipped his helm in a shallow nod, "You are correct, old friend. It was not mere chance…but sentiment." The doubt that had been gnawing his neural net slowly receded. With Bumblebee here, Prime was beginning to accept the opportunity that was before them now. For the scout was right, it was neither chance nor accident that had drawn Optimus here, to this city, where the Lennoxes called home. He had made a promise to Annabelle years ago that he would not miss this day; that he would be there for her in both support and celebration. Now, with so many of his promises to the humans, to his Autobots in ruin, broken and hollow, wasn't this at least the one promise he could keep? Did he not owe Annabelle and her family that much? Once, he and the Autobots could confidently regard themselves as a part of that human family, just as much as the Lennoxes could think of themselves as included amongst the Autobots. Optimus' spark ached at the thought of that 'once', of that time of such harmony…a time he had brought to a crashing and devastating end.

Bumblebee's responding chirps were decidedly more cheerful, resounding with hopeful tones. _"It would be a risk to expose ourselves, especially in a crowd. I remember when Sam had a similar ceremony it was quite populated…" _Hope softened Bumblebee's expression as he looked to his Prime, his leader—his friend. The blind trust, the absolute faith Optimus read in Bumblebee's optics in that moment cut at his spark, was painful in its openness. Even now, after all that Optimus had pushed the Autobots through, Bumblebee's belief in him was not shaken, had not waivered in the slightest. It both wounded and comforted the Prime because he knew, deep in his spark, that he did not deserve such trust. Not anymore…

When Optimus' optics flitted away, unable to gaze upon Bumblebee's trusting countenance, he felt a light touch upon his forearm. Nearly flinching from the gentility of such a touch and the concern beneath the gesture, Optimus irrevocably found his gaze pulled back to his scout once more.

The digits of Bumblebee's hand ghosted mere inches away from his arm, worry for his leader darkened his optics, _"Optimus…there is nowhere else in the galaxy I'd rather be…this, this is the right choice…"_

Solemnly, Optimus tipped his helm earthward in a nod, "You understand…should we do this…should we keep our promise…you realize what will most likely happen?"

Wistful longing colored Bumblebee's answering chirp, _"…to see all of them again…to be with our human family…even for a little while is worth it."_

"Bumblebee…we risk our very sparks to do this. The longer we linger, the greater the chance we give Cemetery Wind of locking onto our position…"

"_I promised Annabelle, too…"_ The younger scout's whistle was an octave lower, drenched in somber notes.

"My friend…I too hold such a promise with our Little One…but you need not do this, you need not risk yourself. I…I owe this to not just her, but to the others as well…I owe them answers."

Bumblebee reached for his leader then, gripping Optimus' unwounded shoulder in a steady and firm grasp, _"Then let us give them answers together…we've been alone for so long…at least for now, for the next few hours, we don't have to be anymore."_

When the next morning came upon Annabelle, she wasn't ready.

Time seemed to have taken leave of its regard of physics and skipped around however it pleased. One moment she was able to linger in the quiet solitude of the dawn, rising from her bed, she drifted over to her closet, lifting her hand and allowing her fingertips to play with the sleeve of her graduation gown, still unbelieving this day had come at last. But the next moment…the next she was caught up in a whirlwind of sound, of chaos, of preparation.

The rest of her morning Annabelle could only remember in ribbons of fractured moments: Her Auntie Carly cooking breakfast; her mother hustling her and then her father to get ready; her Auntie Elena, with no little air of command, taking charge of Epps and Sam, barking out orders to get the house ready for the rest of the day when more of their family and friends arrived.

And then…then…she was packed into her Topkick—her father insisted on driving—and she was on her way. Once at her school, a maelstrom of kisses, tight hugs and 'I love yous' from all of them descended on her before her Auntie Elena shooed her off to get in line for the procession. Lennox was the last to hug his daughter, scooping her up tightly in his arms—despite his wife's protesting squawk of "Don't mess up her hair! You know how hard it was to pin her hat in place!"—Annabelle took comfort in the way her cheek pressed against the metals pinned on his dress uniform. In the space of what felt like mere elongated seconds, she listened to her father's voice so close to her ear—" I am so proud of you!"—only to be released into the throng of her friends in the next flutter of heartbeats.

Nerves and excitement warred within her as she listened to the trumpets blare and the music of their procession flare to life. She was here, the moment was here: this, this was it. Yet even as she followed her friends as they marched in, her head held high, a touch of sadness whispered in her heart, murmuring in mourning that something…_someone_ was missing. Tears bit at her eyes, but unwilling to allow herself to follow such whispers, Annabelle walked her thoughts away from such would be ghosts haunting her heart, as surely as she walked toward the assembly.

Barely repressed excitement kept Annabelle, indeed any of her friends, from really paying attention to the ceremony; all was a blur of formalities until the one looked for moment came. And when it did, when her principal began to call for them to rise from their seats, to line up to receive their diplomas, Annabelle felt more than a little weak at the knees.

When she at last heard her name, when she began to climb the stairs of the stage she expected time to do another of its somersaults and speed up, she anticipated the entire moment to skip past her in a dizzying rush. But, instead, time—that most expert prankster—chose to slow down, syrup thick it gave her precious instants to absorb everything: her principal's warm smile and firm handshake, the weight of her certificate in her hand, and then the moment for her to turn toward the audience and flash a dazzling smile for her parent's camera.

And that, that was when Annabelle looked out over the gathered crowd…and saw them.

Time froze altogether as her gaze skipped over her parents, her aunts and uncles, skipped right to the very back of the mass of people to see…them.

Standing apart from the crowd, were two unmistakable figures, unmistakable at least for her: The image of a younger man who would have been unassuming in black pants and a matching black leather jacket with a single yellow stripe running down each sleeve. Unassuming that is, except for his gaze: unearthly blue, uncanny and enthusiastic. Even over the sound of the crowd's applause, Annabelle could hear his happy whistle.

"Bee…" unbelieving, his name slipped past her lips on a breathy sigh, only to be stolen away completely as her eyes took in the figure that stood beside him. It was an older man, more so than her father, yet somehow the years that lined his countenance were softened by his expression, so kind and gentle. It was a face that belonged to a man who had endured too much throughout his life. Clad in a crisp and precise military dress uniform, he met her gaze boldly as a small and sorrowful smile turned up the corners of his lips. Movements tempered with distinction and care, he lifted one hand to his forehead in a salute to her. And his eyes… an ethereal blue, despite the shadows of countless sorrows reflected within his gaze, his eyes still managed to sparkle when they met her gaze. It was his eyes and the unfathomable expression within them that knocked the air from her lungs in a wheeze; she knew that gaze, could never and would never, never forget it, because she knew that gaze even when it was diminished in his hologram.

"Papa Bot…" Tears swelled within her eyes, blurring her vision. It was then that time revoked her quite moment, shattering it as her principal gave her a nudge toward the opposite side of the stage. Fearing that they would disappear, vanishing without a trace once again, if she looked away even for a fleeting second, Annabelle made her way across the rest of the stage and somehow managed the stairs—all in a less than stately fashion—though she could have cared less. Keeping her gaze riveted upon their holograms, Annabelle darted down the side aisle; no one seemed to take note of the wayward graduate now with the commotion of the ceremony so close to completion.

Nothing mattered more to her in that moment, not her friends, not even her family scattered somewhere in the crowd, because _they_ were somehow, impossibly, here.

**###**

**A/N: Our apologizes to you, dear reader, for an update that was too long in coming. Hope you enjoy! Please R & R!**

**~~~Epsilon Pax**


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